Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins, page 9
“Hello, Milady,” he greeted. “You've been taking good care of our new atoh, I hope?”
“Oh . . . oh yes sir,” she answered nervously, “that's what I do best.” Kahlie really liked both Ator Gracielle and Atoc Jonathan, but she was far more comfortable with Gracielle. Jonathan made her very uneasy.
She had only been at the palace for a few short weeks, and was told in the beginning that she had been brought to the palace to be a kitchen maid, not to fulfill the most sought after position a servant could acquire.
But one day, when she was cleaning in the main dining hall, her constant clumsiness finally paid off.
She had just finished wiping down what she counted to be forty-eight wooden chairs when Gracielle and her former Companion Servant, Dedri, happened into the room.
Kahlie almost fell over when she saw the ator, and bowed nervously before her.
Gracielle signaled for her to stand, smiled warmly and said, “Hello, young lady. I don't believe we've met. You're new here, aren't you?”
Kahlie nodded and sputtered, “Y . . . yes, ma'am.” She had heard that Gracielle was very kind, but didn’t expect her to treat such a young, lowly servant with so much respect and affability.
Gracielle continued, “I'm Gracielle and this is Dedri—my companion servant . . . and you are?”
“Kahlie, ma'am,” she answered timidly.
“Well, welcome, Kahlie. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please don't let us bother you. We just have a few things to discuss.”
Kahlie thought that Gracielle was the loveliest woman she'd ever seen. And that Dedri—with her squinty gray eyes, yellowish skin and very short, mousy brown hair—was one of the most frightening. She fantasized that Gracielle was an angel who'd been captured by the evil Matron of Doom, (Dedri), and that she, (Kahlie the Avenger), had been sent to save her with magical objects she'd produce from the Sorcerer's Cloth, (dust rag).
She tried to appear focused on polishing the long buffet table, but was really straining to hear what was being said by the beautiful Gracielle, who was speaking firmly to Dedri about something that had been neglected.
Ha! She knows who you are Matron. When she realizes who I am, you will meet your demise! Kahlie was so lost in her daydream, that she didn't notice that she had left one of the dining chairs slightly pulled out from the table. As she turned to walk to the other side of the buffet, her foot caught on a protruding leg and she tripped—stumbling across the room and smacking right into the companion servant—knocking both Dedri and herself to the ground.
“You clumsy brat!” Dedri shouted. She jumped up, yanked Kahlie to her feet, and slapped her hard across the face. “You could have hurt the ator!” She raised her hand again, but Gracielle grabbed it in mid-air.
“How dare you?” Gracielle seethed. “She is just a child and it . . . it was an accident!”
“She could have injured you or the baby,” the servant argued.
“But she didn't!” Gracielle was livid. She was still clutching Dedri's arm and holding it high in the air. “Dedri, I have never seen such outrageous behavior in my life,” she scolded as she dropped Dedri's arm and pointed toward the door. “You are dismissed! Pack up your things and leave this palace immediately!”
“But, Ator,” Dedri pleaded, “who will care for you and your daughter?”
Gracielle moved in very close to Dedri and spoke right in her face. “Listen to me, Dedri. If you are unscrupulous enough to strike this young lady, what makes you think that I would allow you anywhere near my daughter?”
“But, your majesty, she's only a kitchen maid.” Dedri was shaking and twitching. Kahlie couldn't tell if she was angry, or embarrassed, or just plain crazy.
Gracielle stepped back and placed her arm around Kahlie's shoulders. “No Dedri, she isn't. She is Kahlie—the companion servant of the ator of Lor Mandela.” Kahlie gasped, and Gracielle added, “Now, would you like to bow to her before you leave, or shall I call the Guard and have you forcibly removed?”
Dedri glared in shock from Gracielle to Kahlie and then back to Gracielle again. “Forgive me. Good day, Milady,” she sneered, as she bowed to Kahlie, and then turned and rushed from the room.
“Well,” Gracielle chuckled as she watched Dedri angrily retreat, “I guess we'd better get you moved to your new chambers.”
Kahlie stared at her gaping.
“And I probably should introduce you to the atoc.”
And that's how it happened. It was like a dream come true for Kahlie, who had never dared to imagine herself in such a prestigious position, especially at such a young age; she had just turned fourteen.
Now, not only was she companion servant to Ator Gracielle, she would be helping with Audril as well. She walked over to where Audril was sleeping, kissed her own hand and touched it softly to Audril's rosy little cheek. She smiled at Gracielle and Jonathan and said, “If you'll not be needing anything more . . . .”
Gracielle replied, “No, my dear. It's time for you to get that beauty sleep, remember?”
“Hmpf!” Jonathan chimed in grinning from ear to ear. “If this vision of loveliness gets any more beautiful, we'll have to assign her guards of her own, just to keep the young men away!”
Kahlie's freckles darkened as her face blushed to bright scarlet. “Th . . . thank you, Atoc,” she giggled and headed off to her chambers.
“Now . . . .” Jonathan turned to Gracielle. “I know that you can't get any more beautiful . . . but you still need your sleep.” He kissed her cheek and her eyes fluttered shut.
“Mmmm,” she sighed, as she dozed peacefully.
Jonathan stood and walked to Audril's intricately carved, lace covered bassinet. “Hello, Angel,” he whispered.
Her little eyes blinked open, as if she’d heard and understood him.
He leaned over and gently lifted her up, cradling her in his arms, and began to hum softly to her. She wriggled a bit, but then quickly fell back asleep.
Jonathan just held her; he watched her sleep for almost an hour, before finally laying her back down.
It was strange. Almost the moment that he set her in the bassinet, his emotions started to spin out of control. He was elated that she was finally here, but then worried about her future, and that wretched Advantiere. Then, he was happy that both she and Gracielle were healthy, and then suddenly angry—very angry! Angry that his parents weren't here; angry that Ultara had killed them; angry that Anika had started all of this chaos; angry that Lantalia hadn’t been able to stop it, and even angry at Nenia, for disappearing and making him occasionally feel sorry for her mother.
It was at that point that he realized he did feel hatred for Ultara—very real, very strong hatred, and, fate of the world relying on it or not, he didn't know how to stop it. How could she have done this? His parents had respected her and treated her well; so did he and Gracielle. How could power have possibly been so important that she would descend to killing friends? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, until the only thought racing through his mind was that Ultara had to die. He would never be able to forgive her and let go of his hatred unless justice was served.
And that's when it hit him. There was a way—a way to get into Trysta Palace to find Ultara. “Darian's . . . friends,” he breathed.
Of course, he thought to himself. Darian said he has Trysta spies! Why haven't I thought of this before? He marched over to the door and looked out into the hall. A palace guard just happened to be strolling past.
“You there!” he commanded.
The guard froze in place.
“Send word to Darian of Brashnell. Inform him that I need to speak with him . . . this evening if possible.”
The guard bowed. “Yes, Atoc,” he replied.
Jonathan signaled for him to rise and added, “Let me know his answer as soon as you hear.”
The guard nodded and sped quickly down the corridor.
“Jonathan? Is everything okay?” Gracielle's faint voice called out from behind him. She was still groggy, but had heard him talking to the guard. “What's Darian up to now?” she asked.
“Oh, it's nothing, Graci . . . nothing to worry about. Just go back to sleep.”
“How's the baby?” she asked.
He didn't answer her at first. Instead he walked to Audril's bassinet, picked her up, and carried her over and laid her at Gracielle's side. “She's perfect, my love, and almost as beautiful as her mother.” He smoothed Gracielle's silky raven hair back off of her cheeks as she drifted back to sleep.
A few seconds later, there was a soft knocking at the door. Jonathan didn't want to wake Gracielle by calling out, so he walked over and answered it. “Kahlie?”
He was surprised to see her back so soon. “Weren't you supposed to be getting some rest?” He pulled the door open wide, and signaled for Kahlie to come in.
“Um . . . y . . . yes, Atoc, but I couldn't sleep,” she fluttered. “If it's all right, I'd rather be here, sir.”
“Well, okay,” he agreed, “but you'll need to sleep eventually, Milady.”
Kahlie blushed again. It wasn't customary for the ator's companion servant to be referred to as ‘Milady;’ but ever since Gracielle told Jonathan about how Dedri had called ‘Milady,’ he had decided to do the same. “Oh, I . . . I promise I'll sleep while the ator and baby sleep tonight. I'm fine, really,” she insisted.
“All right then,” he replied, “I do have one or two little things I could to attend to.”
“Uh . . . uh . . . of course, Atoc,” she stammered, “Don’t worry. I'll look after them now.”
Jonathan stood and tousled her red curls again. “Well . . . that is what you do best,” He replied. He bowed lowly to her and walked toward the door. “Thank you, Milady. I'll return shortly.”
He had no sooner left the room when a familiar voice called out from behind him. “Atoc Jonathan! How fortunate!”
He turned and was surprised to see Darian himself coming down the hall toward him. “Oh, Darian,” Jonathan began, “Hello . . . I didn't expect to see you so soon.”
Darian bowed humbly and explained, “Yes, Sir. As it turns out, I've been in Mandela City all afternoon. With the northern evacuations, Brashnell has become quite . . . um, shall we say, cozy. I was hoping that the situation here was not as uncomfortable but,” he chuckled, “I can see that you are facing the same dilemmas that we are.”
Jonathan nodded in agreement. “I'm afraid so. Please, Darian, let's go someplace where we can talk.”
“Of course, Atoc. Lead the way.” Darian followed Jonathan out to the foyer and across it to a richly appointed lounge near the main palace doors.
Jonathan motioned for Darian to enter. “Can I get you anything, Darian?”
“Oh . . . thank you . . . no, sire.” Darian waited for Jonathan to sit down before lowering onto a large leather bench across from him. “I understand congratulations are in order. I assume that the ator and new atoh are well?” he asked.
“Yes Darian, thank you.” Jonathan hadn’t planned what he would say to Darian, so he just got straight to the point. “Darian, you came and saw me and my father the night before he was murdered. Do you remember?”
The fires in Darian's dark eyes seemed to shrink slightly. “Yes, Atoc, I remember well.”
Jonathan continued. “You warned us that Ultara was going to attack; I've never thanked you for that warning.”
“There is no need, Sire,” Darian assured, “I was only doing my duty. I'm just sorry that I couldn't have done more.”
“Nonetheless, I owe you my thanks,” Jonathan pressed, leaning forward in his chair. “I also wanted to apologize for my attitude toward you that night. As I recall, I was not very pleasant.”
“Atoc,” Darian stood and started wandering around the room. “I have many enemies on Lor Mandela. I've never worried about what others think or say about me. As such, I'm sure you've heard many rumors and stories about the Evil Darian. I would think you a fool to not be a little suspicious of me.” He eyed Jonathan intently. “Now, what can I do for you, Atoc?”
Jonathan drew in a deep breath. “You mentioned that night that you had some Trysta friends. Is this still the case?”
Darian smiled. He strolled over to a row of shelves that lined one entire wall of the room and picked up a small jade statuette. He turned the figurine over and over in his hand, and then set it back down and redirected his attention to Jonathan. “I have a few,” he smirked.
“What do you know of Ultara's whereabouts, Darian?” Jonathan quizzed.
Darian returned to the bench and lowered himself onto it. He leaned toward Jonathan and whispered, “She stays in the palace. She disappears for a couple of hours every once in a while, but the bulk of the time she is at the palace.”
“Where does she go when she disappears?” Jonathan quizzed.
“I'm not certain,” he replied casually.
Jonathan's expression became deathly serious. “Darian . . . how close can your people get to her?”
Darian shook his head. “My friends are very good listeners, Atoc, but you know how difficult it is to see the vritesse if you aren't on the council. They can only bring me what they hear. Believe me, Atoc, if I could have gotten someone close enough to her for long enough . . .”
He paused and looked at his hand for a second, then raised it to his mouth and bit at one of his fingernails before nonchalantly adding, “She would have been dead a long time ago.”
Jonathan was suddenly questioning his plan. Darian had just admitted—without a hint of conscience—that he would murder Ultara if he had a chance. Was this the kind of man with whom the atoc of Lor Mandela should be conspiring? Although he deeply believed that Ultara should be sentenced to death, there were channels to be followed and now, in light of Darian’s confession, this didn't feel right. “I don't suppose my plan will work then.” He tried to bow out gracefully.
A sinister smile spread slowly across Darian's face. “No, I imagine not . . . but mine might.”
“Yours? You have a plan, Darian?” Jonathan asked. “Why does that worry me?”
Darian laughed. “It's really quite simple, Atoc. You want Ultara to be brought to justice; I want the same.”
“But you've already said that you can't get to her,” Jonathan reminded. “Neither can I. She can't be brought to justice if no one can get their hands on her.”
Darian smirked, “Perhaps not, Atoc, but I have a proposition for you.”
“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked. He had no idea where this was heading, but he was sure that any proposition devised by Darian of Brashnell would be questionable at best.
“I have already told you that Ultara leaves the palace every once in a while,” he explained.
“Yes, Darian,” Jonathan acknowledged, “but what does that have to do with anything?”
“I propose this,” Darian smirked, bristling with confidence. “I tell you where she is going, if you will allow me the privilege of being her executioner.”
“What?” Jonathan blurted. “That's absurd! Besides, you just told me that you don't know where she goes!”
“No, Atoc,” Darian corrected, “I said that I am not certain where she goes.”
“Explain,” Jonathan demanded.
“I’ve received information from one of my best informers, Atoc. She is someone who I generally deem quite reliable.” Darian stood and started pacing again. “However, I make it a point to never absolutely accept what any of my spies tell me. They are spies, after all. Let's just say that I'm about ninety-eight percent sure.”
“I just can’t turn Ultara over to you, Darian,” Jonathan began. “She will have to be tried and convicted before I can sign an order of execution.”
“Of course, Atoc,” Darian replied smugly, “I excel at being patient. I just want to be the one who takes care of her once and for all . . . when the time comes.” He lowered back onto the bench and stared Jonathan in the eyes; his fiery pupils glistened savagely. “She killed your parents, Sire, and she is hiding in that palace like some coward . . . I am almost certain that she is responsible for what is happening to Lor Mandela, as well.”
Jonathan became lost in his thoughts. Darian didn't know about the Advantiere, and that was just fine. There was no way that he was going to let him in on that secret. But Darian was right about the rest. Ultara had brutally attacked his parents, without provocation, and used her power and influence to hide herself away. She deserved to be brought to justice; she deserved to die. He felt the same unquenchable fury as earlier building inside him. He wanted her to answer for her crime; he wanted her to experience the horror to which she had subjected his parents.
After several minutes, he finally replied.
“Where does she go, Darian?” he breathed quietly. “If you want to be the one to kill her, I will arrange it.”
Darian looked like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. He hunched over toward Jonathan—his face wild with anticipation. “Excellent, Atoc,” he gushed. “You’ll be very glad you’ve agreed. You see, when Ultara leaves Trysta Palace, she comes here.”
“Here, as in Mandela City?”
“No, Sire. Here, as in Mandela Palace.”
“What? Impossible!” Jonathan blurted.
“It's true, Sire. My source informs me that there is something she is trying to get her hands on here in the palace.”
“How does your source know this?” Jonathan insisted.
“She was near the gate of that monstrosity of a wall when she spotted Ultara running toward it. Let’s just say that it would have been unfortunate for this young lady if Ultara had seen her, so she quickly hid behind a bush or something.”
Darian seemed embarrassed that one of his spies had done something so mundane.
“Ultara charged directly toward the gate, and just before she was about to crash into it, she shouted, ‘Mandela Palace,’ and disappeared.” He leaned back on the bench and added, “Doesn't leave much to the imagination does it?”
